Common Courtesy
by a sea of sound
Summary: It all started with an old coffee machine breaking, and a simple question that quickly turned into a million. — Rachel, Neil, & their very own coffee shop AU.


She started today like any other, rising from her homey bed to turn on the coffee maker, though without the fervor commonly associated with her character after she had her morning cup of coffee.

A sigh escaped her mouth when she saw that that roommate of hers was still leaving her news articles and papers strewn across the living room of their small apartment, and perhaps Tina had been clumsier than usual this morning because their rickety old lounge table was leaning to the right yet again. After all the hard work Rachel put into fixing the antique, it never seemed to remain upright for too long, or at least not until pressure was put upon it. The coffee table was, however, the least of her worries, as her and Tina's humble abode was indeed very humble, with its peeling wallpaper and slightly suspicious-smelling carpet. Being fresh out of college did not have many perks, it seemed.

Rachel ignored the fact that her cheap Mr. Coffee machine (or Querismo, as she and Tina called it) was taking a much longer time than usual, and simply trudged back to her bedroom, feeling much more irritated than when she first woke. Although, like the rest of the complex, her bedroom was quite compact, Rachel managed to organize all of her belongings into neat rows and columns along her walls. Examining her closet, she picked out a simple white blouse and a black pencil skirt with a cinching red waistband.

Today felt professional.

She jumped into the shower, instantly feeling better once the white-hot water began to pound on her back. Even though she was told from a young age that hot showers were bad for you, Rachel took them anyway, finding them much more satisfying than a warm shower. After all, people didn't settle for less when they could have more, even if what is more hurts them.

Before wrapping her towel around her body, she stopped to examine an odd scar just below her collarbone that frighteningly resembled a hickey. She frowned, an eerie feeling coming over her, as she couldn't remember the last time she had had any kind of action. The last time was probably at one of her grad parties during the previous year, back when she and Tina were _just a little_ carefree and much, _much_ more foolish.

Rachel took a bated breath through her nose in an attempt to calm herself from the unpleasant surprise, and simply passed the scar off as something she'd always had but never truly noticed. Perhaps an odd bug bite, or a cut she'd gotten whilst scratching in her sleep. Yes, she tended to do that a lot.

_Besides,_ she thought, _these lightbulbs are fluorescents. God can call me when he creates someone who doesn't have every single one of their imperfections displayed in meticulous detail under such lighting._

Colgate? Check. Blow-dry hair? Check. That cute orange bra she'd bought the week before that still had its tag? Check. Favorite pair of underwear that _wasn't _a thong? Check. Coffee?

...Coffee?

Rachel's incomprehensible thoughts were interrupted once she walked back into the kitchen. Querismo was still making that irritable churning noise when it heated up the water, but what made this time so different was that it was positively spewing liquid everywhere. Purely by coincidence (or maybe the world just hated her), the home phone line decided to go off with its irritatingly high-pitched ring, creating an I-want-to-rip-my-fucking-hair-out cacophony. The only variable that kept Rachel from ripping her hair out was the fact that it was already done up in her professional bun for work, so she settled for rubbing a frustrated hand on her face, applying pressure to her eyelids with her fingertips and mildly clawing at her temple. It seemed that all of her inanimate objects decided to conspire against her today; Rachel felt as though she were a parent coming home from a long vacation only to find her teenaged children having a house party.

Grabbing the telephone, Rachel said gruffly, "Hello?"

"Rachel! Don't use Querismo, he's broken again!" Tina's urgent voice filled the line; her soprano left faint ringing in Rachel's ear.

"You could've left me a note," she replied.

"Sorry, I forgot. Anyway, I've gotta go interview this really cute guy who works at a pet store! Bye, love ya'!"

Rachel shook her head and muttered something that went along the lines of "stupid bitch" under her breath, carefully pulling the aged coffee machine's plug.

This was not the first time Querismo decided to act out; no, there had been many incidents before that. Why, on this particular morning, did Rachel feel so irritable, she'd never know. Maybe she was getting tired of Tina's messes, or perhaps she's strained and needs to let loose a bit. Or, perchance, Querismo just didn't want to make her coffee that morning. Who knows, maybe it's as stressed as she is, constantly being overworked every morning by both Rachel and her roommate.

Rachel threw open the refrigerator door, hoping that Tina left one of those store-bought and extremely unhealthy Starbucks frappucinos unattended. But luck would not have her, and the fridge was sufficiently lacking the disgustingly delicious energy drink. Frustration and sleep gripped her albeit weakly, for someone as punctual and pragmatic as Rachel would not have slacking off. The time was nearly seven forty-five; she _was _a secretary, after all.

So grabbing her keys and purse, she walked out the door feeling as unaccomplished as a listless yet ambitious college student (herself, but who's to say she hasn't matured?).

* * *

Rachel grumbled to herself as she apprehensively stepped into a small, crowded café. Because she hated to deal with the morning rush of people at the local Starbucks, she decided to try Chai Kanon, which was just a little ways down the street from the former. The Chai Kanon was a little indie coffee shop of sorts that Rachel remembered Tina writing about in one of her positive restaurant reviews, so Rachel finally took a break from her beloved Starbucks to give the shop a trial.

It was to her relief that the place wasn't crowded with people (though there was a small line from the counter), but rather with the large variety of oddly colored sofas, armchairs, and ottomans scattered across the room with circular redwood tables. The walls were lined with shelves filled with classical books and pictures of random strangers (the owners, she presumed). The café itself was quite dark overall, but Rachel liked the ambience of it; she supposed Starbucks may have once looked like this back when it had not gained prominence.

Rachel chewed on her bottom lip as her shoes caused loud clacking noises to fill the otherwise quiet place. Her face grew a bit red as the few people turned to take curious glances at her yet said nothing; it reminded of her being back at her grandfather's farm, when the cows would watch her after she made a sudden movement that startled them. She got on line behind an uptight-looking man who wore an odd combination of a peach button-down, a light-blue and white pinstriped vest, a red tie, and dark blue dress pants; to Rachel he looked like one of those circus people she would see on TV as a child.

The man spoke in a clear, high voice, "I would like a medium vegetable tea."

The lone employee nodded, punching some buttons in the cashier before preparing the drink; Rachel took the time to observe him then. He was a young man, most likely around her age, with shaggy blond hair that stuck up in different directions. She hadn't the chance to really glance at his face, so instead her eyes wandered downward, examining his body. He was rather skinny and short, though he appeared to have slight muscles and was probably taller than her.

A smile unconsciously made its way onto her face as she found that this man had knobby elbows; however, her grin faded when she remembered why his boniness triggered her smile. It reminded her of her dear ex-boyfriend, who was both beautiful and terrifying in all his gifted (and bony) hands and his way with words. Rachel hated to admit that she did in fact still miss him, although she knew he was happy with his new girlfriend, who Rachel had heard was a tailor.

"Are you going to order or not?"

Rachel was pulled out of her thoughts at the sudden sound of the barista's voice. She blinked as if she hadn't heard him and she didn't know what she was doing.

"Well?" he asked, red eyes glaring. Rachel frowned, stepping up closer to the counter and taking a quick glance at the loose name tag on his apron.

_So his name's Neil, huh?_

"I'd like a—"

"Excuse me, this isn't vegetable. This is strawberry." The man who'd ordered before her cut her off, looking very annoyed with Neil.

Neil scowled at him. "Hold on. Can't you see I'm trying to help this other customer?"

Rachel sighed. "No, it's fine—"

"Could you just change it?" the man insisted, placing his cup on the counter. Neil grabbed it and carelessly dropped it into the garbage before preparing the order. Rachel watched, amused, as he seemed to be doing as sloppy job as possible. The other man didn't notice, preoccupied with scrolling through his cellphone.

"Here, all done," Neil said with a sense of finality. "What do you want?"

"Humph."

The older man left the café, which left just Rachel and the irritated barista in the little shop.

Rachel was about to give her order before a thought occurred to her. "Can I ask you a question?"

Neil's eyebrows furrowed, staring at her with a mixture of confusion and annoyance. "I don't have time for that."

"I'm the only one here. Common courtesy?"

"Why call it 'common courtesy' if it isn't even common?"

Rachel grinned. "Witty. I like that. Do you believe in destiny?"

He stared at her with a deadpan look on his face. "What?"

"Well, do you?"

His expression scrunched up yet again as he scoffed. "No, I don't buy into that bullshit. Now would you just order?"

"Thank you," Rachel smiled, a plan formulating in her mind. "Can I have a medium regular coffee with soy and sugar?"


End file.
